If necessity is the mother of invention, greed must be its abusive father.

The needs are clear. We choose not to meet them. Why? Because we can make more money doing something else. Until necessity catches up with us, and then there’s nothing left to gain.

Motherly needs

Even the most determined individual will face doubt and hesitation when success remains elusive. While we may firmly believe in our strategy and commitment to stay the course, the question will inevitably come before us when most vulnerable: should we change something, turn around, drive in a different direction?

Without success, the staunchest believer will have a moment of doubt. Victory may be around the corner, but without a sign, we may stop pushing towards it. The reality is that we cannot know. We may be getting closer, but without feedback, that is as likely as the possibility that we may be driving away from our goals.

It’s why faith looks like lunacy to non-believers. And without anything to show otherwise, it may well be.

Faith and lunacy

They say it’s not the what but the who that does it. If a government indiscriminately murders civilians, we will expect liberal democracies to condemn and even intervene to stop the carnage. However, if the genocidal state in question is an ally of these so-called democracies, they won’t condemn or divest—one does not do that to a friend.

The same logic applies to a much less serious dynamic. At work, an employee may question a business decision; upon hearing the challenge, the manager may raise the issue and receive the same answer from those above them. When the same challenge of the decision comes from someone high enough in the corporate hierarchy, something is finally done about the issue.

When the who matters more than the what, the rot has spread too far.

The rot

I took my phone out of my pocket as a particularly vicious gust of wind hit me, blowing the bus ticket that had stuck to my device out of my hand and down the cliff. I have an almost pathological aversion to littering: I climbed down the safer side of the cliffs, down to the rock beach and desperately looked for my rubbish—in vain.

I decided the best possible course of action was to pick up someone else’s litter and dispose of it in the nearest bin. Sadly, even in this beautiful marine landscape, there was no shortage of plastic bottles, cans, wipes and other types of human-generated waste. If I had an entrepreneurial mind, I could abstract my practice and set up a business that allowed people to offset their littering by buying credits from me; I would then use part of this money to arrange for cleaners to pick up an amount of rubbish equivalent to the money paid. Thus, a modern citizen could go to the beach, litter to their heart’s content and not have to worry about it, knowing they were funding the cleaning-up process.

Naturally, there are myriad flaws. Off the top of my head, how can we be sure our particular beach will be cleaned? What if the cleaners cannot access the dirty areas? (My bus ticket nods approvingly.) How can we trust that the cleaning operation will take place?

Many have found ways to market to our bad conscience. However, most of the time, we can be better. Not breaking something always trumps fixing it.

Litter offset

Sometimes, when I write (a song or a story), I know immediately if it’s a winner. Most often, however, perspective is needed. After recording the idea for a tune, I’ll go away, clear my mind, have dinner, forget about the tune, let it leave my mind; after hours of recording, songs have a way of burrowing into one’s brain. Then, I’ll return to it. That first listen after the initial recording is critical: I’ll immediately know if it’s worth pursuing or doomed to the creative bin.

It’s easy to extrapolate this to our relationships: it would be wise not to voice our thoughts and opinions as they come to us, but let them simmer, analyse them again, and then decide what to do with them. It’s not always possible. Indeed, it’s a luxury to have friends with whom we need not be careful about the views we express.

Yet, it’s important to remember that most people don’t need to hear what we need to say.

Returning to what we have to say

Generation gaps are fascinating. Sitting somewhere between two significant ones—the one that came before, which mostly rules the world, and the one that’s coming strong to make the most of whatever is left of it—I have witnessed a curious similarity. It appears Boomers and Gen-Zers share an overwhelming lack of interest in each other.

My next train of thought takes me to the concept of generational classification. Doubtlessly, the paradigm works because it helps to explain our world. However, it would be sad to accept the division into separate generational categories. Such groupings separate us and prevent us from learning from each other. I find many aspects of each generation—once again, accepting the paradigm—appealing, and many of them off-putting. Yet, the concept that the inhabitants of our world are thus classified misses something I can’t quite put my finger on.

As usual, certainty trumps uncertainty. Alas, my doubts and thirst for discovering a more accurate and useful paradigm can’t compete with the majority’s conviction that we belong to distinct generations, which in turn determines our behaviour.

I only hope I continue to make young friends. And old friends. And friends my age. Invariably, once we speak our minds, we have more in common than we think.

Martian Thoughts

Motherly needs

Faith and lunacy

The rot

Litter offset

Returning to what we have to say

Defying the generational classification